Summer of Love
by Thundercatroar
Summary: What happens when two obvious people don't have a clue?


Hey, Arnold! was created by Craig Bartlett and is the property of Viacom Inc. No infringement on heir property is implied, nor should be inferred.

"Shove-A-Burger" is the creation of Craig Bartlett, featured briefly in the clay animation short, "Arnold Escapes from Church". No infringement on Mr. Bartlett's creation is implied, nor should be inferred.

The alien species "Sleestack" included in both the seventies _and _nineties television shows, as well as the 2009 movie entitled "Land of the Lost" were created by Sid and Marty Krofft, and property of Sid and Marty Krofft productions. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.

The characters from the movie Kill Bill, "Budd" and "O-Ren Ishii", were created by Quentin Tarantino, and owned by Miramax Films. No infringement on their property is implied, or should be inferred.

The book "_The Prince_" was written by Niccolo Machiavelli, no infringement on his work, or whoever owns the rights to publish his work, is implied, or should be inferred.

The book "Fifty Shades of Grey" was written by E L James and is published by Random House Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.

Indian Motorcycle and the make Indian Chief are registered trademarks of the Indian Motorcycle Company LLC. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.

The song_ Lotta' Love_ was composed by Neil Young, performed by Nicolette Larson, and owned by Warner Brothers Records Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.

The song "Heart of Glass" was composed by Chris Stein, Debbie Harry, performed by the group Blondie, and owned by CBS Records Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.

The song _Love Rollercoaster _was composed by James Williams, Marshall Jones, LeRoy "Sugar" Bonner, Marvin Pierce, Willie Beck, Ralph Middlebrooks, Clarence Satchell, performed by The Ohio Players, and is owned by Warner Music Inc. No infringement on their work and property is implied, nor should be inferred.

The song _Summer of Love_" was composed by Ricky Wilson, Cindy Wilson, Keith Strickland, Fred Schneider, and Kate Pierson, performed by the B-52's, and owned by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. No infringement is implied, nor should be inferred.

The title of this chapter comes from the song _More Than a Woman_, composed by Barry, Maurice, and Robin Gibb, performed by the Bee Gees, and owned by Polygram International Music. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.

* * *

Summer of Love

Chapter One: More Than a Woman

Any other time she'd start getting ready for work, but for a pleasant change from the norm, she had the _entire _weekend off from Pet Amore.

It was rare when chances like these arose, but when they did, Helga followed her own version of the list for a teenager's perfect Saturday. No longer occupied by playing catch, or riding down the steepest hill in town, the paragon day consisted of sleeping in until ten, and then, after enjoying three heaping bowls of Sugar Chunks cereal while watching _Dance Craze_, she'd spend the rest of the day in her pajamas on the computer watching cat videos like everybody else in the world.

That wasn't going to happen today though, because even _she _had to admit that it was just too pretty outside to squander the day sequestered in her bedroom living off sugar-saturated grain, the last of the bulk butterscotch discs she bought from J-Mart, and writing _Yo, Ernest_ fan fiction lemons all day long.

If her mother accomplished the near un-believable miracle of talking Bob into a drive in the country, with of all things, a picnic lunch, instead of going into the beeper store to work, maybe she'd have an interesting day too; hell, after that _anything _was possible.

The biggest question at that moment then, was what to do?

After dragging herself out bed, and tripping over them, Helga rationalized that her sneakers still had a lot of sole left on them, and even though the patterns on the bottom were worn _completely_ off, there were no holes, so she was solid on shoes.

She could go shopping for clothes, but she hadn't so much as even put much thought into what she was going to be wearing to _college_ in the fall, much less _that_ day, so shopping was _clearly_ out.

Six years earlier, her meddlesome monitor lizard instigated the event she had come to call, _"The Great City Bus Incident", _and after that, she couldn't take public transportation _anywhere_ in town, even if she _wanted_ to.

Court order.

Responsibly, Helga _actually_ had him on a leashthat fateful day, but Sleestack, her pet monitor lizard, was a deceptively strong tube of muscle with feet and a whipping tail, so she didn't have the strength to pull him back, much less control the reptile's instinctual need to seek out warmth.

Consequently, the cunning creature broke free of his bonds, absconding to the first place of sanctuary it found.

Of course, the entire affair was blown _completely _out of proportion by the biased driver, other riders, and naturally, the man whom her pet reptile had climbed up into the pant leg, and ultimately, crotch of.

The man offered to sue, but never followed through. Because of Sleestack's actions, and what they deemed was Helga's negligence in the event, the public transit authority did make it their mission to make sure that both she and her lizard were banned from riding any mode of local government run transportation within the confines of Hillwood City for the rest of their natural lives.

It was unfair, but as time went on, Helga was grateful the whole thing happened, surprisingly her life, as well as her mother and father's got so much better afterwards.

Miriam had to dry out so she could drive her to school, and the incident gave Big Bob something brand spanking new to bitch about until the end of time, which was the equivalent of plopping a gigantic gift with a big red bow neatly tied on top of it right into his lap.

A win/win situation for all concerned.

As far as transportation went during her later years, if her parents couldn't help her out, she bummed rides with friends, and a few years later, when she got her driver's license, Bob and Miriam bought her a car junior year, so, in the vernacular, it was all good.

However, in regards to that day, added to the embarrassing fact that she was considered too rowdy to ride one of the smelly, smoke belching, chariots from hell ever again, her vehicle was running on fumes, so unless she wanted to walk that far, and she _didn't_, going downtown wasn't happening any time too soon.

Helga pondered for a fleeting moment that she could go to the_ Kiska_ and stuff herself with gummy gears while taking in a marathon of the comedy and science fiction serials they screened every Saturday afternoon.

The short films were so dated it was comical, but they _were_ well made, even on the shoestring production budgets that they had to adhere to way back then. The films hearkened back to a more universal time, where anyone could get the jokes, and misdeeds were measured in pure black and white, as opposed to the shades of grey that dramatic television and movie dramas involving vampires seemed to revolve around now.

Going to sit inside a dark theatre completely went against the reason why Helga was leaving the house in the first place anyway, so that was out.

It wouldn't have mattered anyway, because after a quick inspection of her wallet, there were only six dollars and some loose change in her wallet for immediate use. With that much cash on hand, she _could_ buy one of the super double whammy cheeseburger combo meals at Shove-A-Burger that she ate in tribute to Arnold because that what he always ordered without fail, but that was_ it_.

As thoughts of staying home threatened to stray into her mind, Helga suddenly remembered the day glow orange flyers plastered over almost every square inch of the walls at school that the neighborhood was throwing one of its annual celebrations that weekend.

Most of the clubs at Hillwood High were going to have their booths there and even though she usually didn't go to that sort of thing because it was uncool to conform by attending something that the school administration supported, she didn't have anything _else _better to do either.

At least the price of admission _was_ the right price, which was _nothing_, so in light of her financial situation, and against the protests of her inner rebel, Helga decided to be a hypocrite to her somewhat questionable beliefs, swallow her pride, and go.

There were _always_ free samples of food awaiting the enterprising festival attendee, and what she could not artfully scrounge from the fat of the land, Helga was sure that the six bucks in her pocket could easily buy a hot dog, some popcorn or candyfloss, and something to drink. Helga reasoned that if she were careful with her money, she would be set until that evening.

Taking less than five minutes to hurriedly dress, she fought the tangles out of her long, soft blonde hair, pulled it into a rough ponytail, threw on a gleaming white baseball shirt with royal blue sleeves, and after deciding that her legs didn't look like a hairy yeti's, a pair of modest black shorts.

After stepping into her dirty, tattered white canvas shoes, and putting all the necessities into her pocket, she looked at the clock on the wall. Even though it was only nine thirty, and she would be early to the event, Helga decided to go on and walk over to Vine Street for the hell of it, simply to see if anybody she knew was there yet.

Many of the school clubs had booths at the food festival, _including _the varsity basketball and football teams, therefore Helga had further incentive to hurry up and get her butt over there with the thought that maybe_ he_ would be there_._

With that, Helga made a concession to her feminine side that was for the most part dominated by her inner tomboy, and sprayed on some expensive perfume that she had "borrowed" from Olga's dresser that she had not quite gotten around to returning yet. With her narrow ass stuck in the middle of the deepest wilds of Borneo teaching people with spears to read, Helga doubted Olga would miss it anyway.

After a final primp of her hair in the upstairs hall mirror, Helga defeated her efforts entirely by binding her flaxen locks into a ponytail. Not satisfied with the state of it quite yet, she finished disheveling her hair by crushing it down with a well-worn blue baseball cap that _didn't _belong to her.

Finished, Helga bounded down the steps to leave, determined to have a good time.

* * *

As it turned out, one of her friends was already at the food festival, and Helga was forced to examine the strength of her will, or lack of. "_Criminy_, when in the hell did I get so soft?"

With after another check of her watch, Helga propped her legs up on the edge of a wobbly plastic table with her arms crossed, looking over her feet at the early bird attendees of the neighborhood gathering. The chair she was sitting in had a long, running crack in one of the back legs, she wasn't that heavy, and as long as she didn't lean back in it, she figured she'd be alright.

More than used to the whim of fate blowing her best laid plans straight to hell, even Helga couldn't help but wonder how in the world Sheena had managed to rope her into manning the French club's _Block Party Food Festival Fiesta Day_ drink booth in her absence.

Especially since she wasn't even a member of the freakin' French club to begin with!

Actually, as Helga remembered it, she didn't have much of a choice in the matter at all, as Sheena dragged her away from the warm, juicy pastrami samples that Sub King was doling out impaled on those fancy, multi-colored cellophane plastic frilled, wooden toothpicks, and towards the French club booth.

Perhaps it was because her mouth was full of warm, greasy meat, maybe Sheena caught her on a good day, but no matter the reason why, it was simply amazing how clever Sheena had been in not letting her get a word in edgewise about her multiple inadequacies in the business of food booth running.

Sheena was slick that much was true, so while she prattled on over Helga's mumbling protests without pause, Sheena promised that she would be _'right back'. _Before Helga could back out of the deal, Sheena added with a quick breath that her quickie J-Mart ice run would take the famous last words of, "a couple of minutes", and that if a customer came up to the booth, the price of the items she was selling was a dollar apiece.

Even_ with_ Sheena's shameless begging, Helga still wasn't up for taking the job and she wanted to continue scouring the booths for free tidbits of tasty smoked, and brine injected preserved meats, so she tried in vain to weasel out of the job without being mean about it.

Somehow in the course of a few minutes though, the sweet talking brunette managed to seal the deal with her by saying that during the entire festival that day, she could have whatever she wanted from the French club's booth for free, so she finally acquiesced.

With another quick check of her watch though, a _'couple of minutes'_ easily turned into thirty; and Helga was beginning to wonder if her good natured, but scatter brained friend would be coming back at all.

At least her "voluntary" job wasn't difficult, but aside from the impatient wait for her friend's return while the free pickings got slimmer, the job _did _have a few _other_ minor boogabears that perturbed Helga as well.

In the duration of Sheena's overlong absence, everything was melting, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it but drain the water out of the ice chest and keep the remnants of ice for drinks from freezing into a large chunk as best she could with the large, cold aluminum scoop inside.

Freezing cold water managed to soak into her shoes during the process, but the coolness on her feet was a comfort from the hot asphalt under them, and despite that weird squishy feeling she got when she wriggled her toes, it was okay.

The seven long stacks of bagged Styrofoam cups that were standing lips down had blown over at least six times to the ground in the warm spring breeze. Added to the inconvenience of having to pick the damn things up every two minutes, she also had to slap flies away from both herself, and the pitcher that held the sour, sugary beverage she was supposed to be hawking.

All minor inconveniences put aside though, everything else was easy enough to handle, and if she ran out of drink, all she had to do was dump ten scoops of the tangy, pre-mixed powder to her side into a pitcher of water along with ice, and voila, more instant heartburn in a cup.

Of course, that wasn't even a consideration yet, seeing as she hadn't had any customers yet.

Despite the front of disinterested ineptitude she put up for Sheena, this wasn't the worst way to spend a lazy late April day at all.

So, after dumping another tiny scoopful of quickly thinning ice cubes into her lukewarm drink and checking the frozen contents of the other ice chest, Helga relaxed, and set out wholeheartedly to the task of enjoying herself until Sheena got back. With a satisfied sigh, she had all of the creature comforts and benefits afforded an individual at a gathering such as this.

She had a place to sit out of the crowd which was important, and seated, it was more comfortable to observe all of the weird people that lived in the neighborhood interact with each other.

Distracted by another sight, Helga pulled the visor of her baseball cap down to cover her eyes as far as could be allowed and looked to her side with a blush, because her favor had yet _another_ unforeseen added perk.

Watching Arnold Shortman help set up the Hillwood High varsity basketball and football teams' joint kissing booth.

From what the flyers posted all over school indicated the proceeds from their kissing booth would go towards the gift senior class had voted to give to the school.

As far as the gift went, everyone had different ideas of what they wanted, what would be appropriate, and how much it should cost, so the entire senior class argued about it immaturely.

Ever the clever peacemaker and much needed voice of reason, Arnold, who was also the editor of the school paper, "_The Fig Leaf_", proposed a vote on a list of gifts that could be given that were around the same price, so that way, everyone could feel a part of the selection process, and there would be no hard feelings.

In the end, all the choices were narrowed down to three ideas, approved by the principal for voting, and the democratic process began.

Woe to the republic.

One gift idea was a tasteful, rather beautiful wrought iron gate for the back entrance located next to the football and baseball fields. In Helga's eyes, that was an unacceptable offering simply because the item was tasteful, and would have added a lovely, even stately appearance to a well-used school that had clearly seen much better days.

Another idea was a glass case with sliding doors so that all the school's trophies could be nicely ensconced in a prominent display in the front foyer. Seeing as the Figs football team hadn't won many games, much less a championship in its entire forty three year history, there was nothing to showcase other than a spectacular amount of failure.

The basketball team as it turned out hadn't fared much better over the years, and had won only one prestigious third place victory in nineteen sixty six, along with a string of participation trophies won by the wrestling team in the late seventies.

Overall, it seemed a waste of perfectly good money to have a large case built to house a less than spectacular collection of heavily tarnished trophies, a dry rotted basketball goal net, and a bunch of small second and third place plaques, along with yellowing ribbons from swimming, debate team and chess club competitions.

Helga _never_ thought beyond her wildest dreams that the last proposed gift on the voting sheet had a hope in hell of_ ever_ being selected, therefore, merely for shits and giggles, the smart ass voted for the oddest option on the ballot, which was a_ gigantic_, extremely _ugly_ sounding sculpture of a fig fruit.

When the results of the vote were tallied though, _of course_, the third, and most bizarre of the ideas presented won out easily to the shock of everyone, even the people who voted for the ugly ass thing in the first place.

The price of having the unattractive monstrosity sculpted in granite was calculated to be astronomical. People complained, and it was suggested another idea be used, at the last minute Katrinka Johnson's father, who owned Hillwood Cement Works Incorporated on the outskirts of town, promised to donate the concrete. Later, he was convinced to build the mold for the fig sculpture for free, and further bamboozled into providing the reinforcement bars, cement, brick, and eventual shipment to the school at cost.

Rendered by Miss Lawson, one of the better art teachers of Hillwood High, the proposed senior class gift was drawn in a realistic manner, scanned, and then cropped to appear in a real picture of the front of the school in between the flag poles so everyone could see how the sculpture would look in relation to the school's entrance.

Delighted, the school staff approved the design, but when the preliminary drawings of the gift began to circulate on the school's website, it caused an uproar that was still the talk of the school to that very day.

The concept drawing was supposed to be a single fig fruit lying on leaves sitting atop a brick and mortar pedestal, but with the imagination given the average dirty minded teenager, the sculpture looked more like a gigantic, amputated testicle, flaccidly lying atop a bed of wilted lettuce.

Given the maturity of the average Hillwood High school student, everyone soon began calling the artwork in school website chat rooms, in the hallways, or during lunch, "_The Ball on the Wall_".

A short time later, some mysterious, enterprising wrongdoer had gone as far as to breech the security of the school website, add a rather prodigious addition to the image of the proposed statue already existing in the school website with another colorful fruit of size, and post _that_ much more interesting picture in the original's stead.

The image was down in a matter of minutes by site administrators, so few people got to see it, but those who had, said it was the work of a disturbed genius.

Of course, the illegal entry into the school's purportedly impenetrable website so incensed the administration, that it set out to find and punish the persons responsible to the fullest extent of the law with a zeal that would make the Salem witch hunts, and the Spanish Inquisition look like cheerful little tea parties.

Simply to annoy her more than anything else, Helga repeatedly asked Phoebe how she managed to pull the website hijacking off. No matter how many times she asked though, Miss Heyerdahl vehemently denied the charge, and then as punishment, gave Helga the silent treatment for at least twenty minutes or so, or until Helga apologized in a half assed manner, whichever came first.

For a couple of months school administrators rigorously questioned everyone in the student body whom they remotely suspected possessed enough skill to pull the caper off, including Peapod, Park, and Curly, but despite their efforts, no progress was ever made in the case.

Finally, a reward was offered as a last desperate effort, and incentive to any enterprising mole that came forward to finger the individual, or individuals responsible for the inexcusable crime.

Helga sarcastically thought that the school had gone all out to find a rat, because the reward was a ticket to a Hillwood Figs football game, tee shirt, cup, pom poms, and a giant foam hand with a raised index finger in the school colors of orange with dark green letters that shamelessly lied, '_**We're #1!**__'_

Almost five full months later it was still an enigma as to who had committed the heinous crime, but the prevailing opinion from the student body was more or less '_give a shit_', even after the principal sweetened the pot with vouchers for free popcorn at home games.

Helga reasoned that if the powers that be expected someone to become Judas, sell their soul, and potentially open themselves to get their ass kicked for cheap trinkets, they should have thrown in some loose change from the office couch for gas money too.

If they weren't so cheap and the Hillwood police department so inept, they might have already caught their perpetrator, but even if anyone did get close, Helga knew she'd _never _be connected to the caper.

She'd been extremely careful, but even if the fail-safes that she constructed were undone, the only evidence Hillwood High and the police would find was that the hacking was masterminded by an elderly, _severely _perverted, but unfortunately _untraceable _public library computer user living in Pleasantville named Bernard Flotsam, aged seventy-two years.

In concerns to the class gift, _whenever_ it was completed, Helga was at a loss to think how attractive a giant concrete fig would look on a pedestal outside the entrance of school, but who was she to judge?

It should be the thought that counted, but she gave the over sized monstrosity of a fruit less than a week before it was molested with spray paint, and picked at with whatever tools the average teenager had access to.

Helga didn't _want_ to lay odds if she were going to be able to fight the urge to be the first one to do it first herself.

Then again, no pun intended, Arnold had put a lot of work into getting the ball rolling on the fig sculpture, so abusing it would be like slapping him in the face, Helga would do anything rather than _that_.

The statue would be installed by the time she was a quarter of the way through the first semester of her freshman year in college anyway, _surely _she'd be a little more grown up by _then_. Helga actually_ hoped_ so as she was pulled away from her thoughts by Arnold, Gerald, and Curly hoisting another heavy table with folding legs upwards to stand while Sid supervised with points and advice the former three didn't ask for.

As such, ogling the handsome bronzed blonde boy of the quartet on the sly with her elbow on the table with her chin perched atop the five avengers was rather easy, and a well received distraction.

For a change, Helga actually felt guilty for most of the things that were swirling through her mind about Arnold, but it didn't hamper her. While everyone else was busied with moving boxes or performing some other duty in the distance, Thad caught her attention as he slid his thin framed eyeglasses down past the bridge of his nose, giving her an impish, knowing look over the lenses with a smirk.

Embarrassed by getting caught, despite the fact that it was by someone in the tightly guarded loop of two that knew about her secret, Helga needlessly pretended to busy herself with swiping the knobble grained white plastic table in front of her with a damp, tearing paper towel, ashamed that she had been so sloppy getting caught like that.

When she felt it was safe enough to quit obsessively cleaning, Helga dashed the bits of damp white towel on the tabletop to the dark black asphalt beneath her, and carefully leaned the flimsy chair back to prop her feet up on the cooler again. Soon enough, giving way to her natural proclivities, Helga looked upwards once again to find her secret crush, this time attempting to do so with much more discretion.

So she thought.

Arnold quickly turned away when she looked up, and she'd be lying if she said it didn't hurt, but Helga felt that she couldn't possibly expect any different.

Eye contact with Arnold would have created an uncomfortable requirement for him to acknowledge her, and she sought to spare him from that indignity. What with her notoriously legendary early childhood abuses of him, and now her benign disinterest in him outside of a, _'Hey, Football Head, how's it goin'_ in between classes, and a few short conversations after her soccer practices, who could blame the boy?

Besides, Arnold noticing _her _would interfere in her dissection of _him_, and with a heavy sigh, Helga felt grateful to still have at least_ that_.

Arnold turned eighteen years old last October, and for all his adorable cuteness as a young boy, he grew to become a more handsome man as she gazed at the sandy blonde hair, which framed his gorgeous, sun kissed face.

She'd be a wealthy woman if she had a dollar every time she had daydreamed of running her fingers through it, and as the heaven sent rays of light brightly shined upon her sun king unhindered by his usual baseball cap, or a football helmet, Helga realized that it made his beautiful, gentle green eyes even more vivid.

After all these years, just as she had written in a little pink book once upon a time, she could_ still_ drown in their pools of jellybean-like glory.

Looks weren't everything however, so grudgingly Helga forced herself to drag her thoughts away from the niceness of Arnold's muscular chest through a _tight_, light blue _Iver's Seafood _tee shirt, and focused on the heart warming fact that Arnold was still largely unchanged by the considerable misfortunes that life had cruelly catapulted at him from an early age.

Helga knew most assuredly that other more shallow people whom fate had not touched as hard as Arnold would become bitter, angry shells of humanity and turn their backs on both people _and_ the world.

Helga thought gratefully that the man she loved was not the average person. Instead of stewing in anger, and hating undeserving people who had it considerably better than he did, her sweet Arnold strove even harder as an adult than he did as a child to continue in his noble beliefs that life was beautiful, and that deep down inside, no matter what they did, people were inherently good.

Doing everything within his power to help anyone in need, Arnold Shortman was a selfless kind hearted lamb in the body of a lion, and Hillwood City's answer to Jesus Christ, the Olympian gods, and every advice columnist known in the history of man wrapped up into one beautiful package.

Who in their right mind could possibly pass up a chance to taste _those_ delicious lips?

There was time in which Helga certainly couldn't, and when younger, she was quite adept at purloining affections from the wonderful boy in one form or another with shocking regularity.

Since their lips did not meet, and she nearly puked her guts out too, Valentines Day dinner with Arnold as Cecile didn't quite count.

Due to her methodical scheming and running through the cast of Mr. Simmons' fourth grade cast of understudies for the role of Juliet in Shakespeare's play like an assassin, Helga had enjoyed the prize of Mrs. Montague's last kiss with Romeo before dying by her own hand.

Trying to spare her beloved a broken heart, Helga had the reward of stealing a steamy, script deviating kiss in her role as _Lifeguard Extra Number Two_ in Babewatch.

Lastly, with her selfless loyalty, and courage in ducking down the dark back alleys, and scampering across the high rooftops of Hillwood City as Deep Voice, Helga found cornered abandon with two heart-pounding kisses after being forced by the object of her affections to make one outrageously true admission.

All added together, there were four blessed instances of intimate contact with Arnold Shortman's lips, and at least that was something golden that she could cling to, and remember for the rest of her days. The lovesick girl wished that she could have had just one last chance, but with the unfortunate tide of age, the rules to the one sided game that she played with Arnold had changed irreparably along the way.

Once upon a time, she was able to cover her amorous transgressions up with all the resourceful cunning of a government spymaster, or at least play dead until things blew over as an artful opossum might. Now that they were older, time made matters more complicated, and mysterious happenings such as meeting lips could not be easily explained away with flimsy excuses, and loud bluster any longer.

Helga's heart ached for the loss of her once unquestionable power too, because she would never again work up enough courage to manipulate herself into another advantageous position in which it would be possible to give Arnold Shortman just one last kiss.

Watching the boy helping his friends, Helga wondered if she would be able to bear watching a long line of girls vying to be the next to taste Arnold Shortman's inviting lips.

A hell that she didn't want to contemplate, much less witness, Helga checked her watch again, wishing Sheena would hurry up and get her scrawny ass back there _now_, so she could spare herself the agony of the disgusting spectacle.

Of course there was no sign of the lost girl who had absconded with _her _freedom, so Helga was forced to seethe in jealousy over females that were not even _there_ yet, mingled with the bitter traces of doubts she still harbored over her own value despite her years of therapy with Doctor Bliss.

"Helga?" She jumped from her internal dissections as her friend stood in front of her, holding an oversized radio with a compact disc player integrated into it in one hand, and a barely manageable stack of discs in the other.

Helga, obviously not too happy, but honestly trying not to be rude said, "I _hate _it when you sneak up on me like that" Then the regretful blonde sighed at herself and quietly added with shame looking away, "I'm sorry I snapped at you." She made a flimsy excuse, "You just kinda' caught me off guard."

The understanding girl nodded. "I should have known better, it's okay." Helga would have asked her to stop making_ her_ problems hers, but then with incredulity framing her voice, Phoebe distracted, "It's nice you're becoming more civic minded, Helga, but since when are you a member of the French club?"

"Like _never_," Helga rolled her eyes upwards, and took the jewel cases from Phoebe's hand to place on the table for her. "Sheena's got me here looking after any customers that come along, and making sure that no one runs off with any of her club's crap while she's gone on a last minute ice run."

"Well when is she getting back?" Phoebe wondered as she checked her watch and then looked around the festival venue. "The crowds are growing, and she's going to need to be here to take care of sales."

Helga checked her watch and looked back up at her friend, "I have absolutely _no_ idea, and she's been gone for a good while," With a false brightness, she assumed, "I'll be free just as soon as Sheena returns." Grinning falsely, Helga decided not to divulge her plans of retreat. "I'll go find some cotton candy, and more samples or _something_." Helga noted, picking at her nails, trying to not look like her attention was turned towards Arnold again.

Gerald ran over from the sports booth to take the heavy radio from Phoebe's hand, and with a loving, obviously grateful glance downwards, the handsome boy greeted, "Babe, _**you**_ are a _lifesaver_! Thank you so much for going back and getting my stuff off the steps at the house!" As an afterthought, he added, "Also for calling and letting me know it was still all there too! I have no idea how I managed to forget it."

Phoebe handed a short stack of jewel cases from the table to the grateful boy to take as well, "You're welcome, Sweetie, but it was hardly a difficult task to perform."

"Well, I don't mind telling you that I was more than worried about it!" Gerald hugged his girlfriend as well as he could with one arm, expressing with relief and a swipe across his forehead with the back of his hand, "I'm just glad that nobody stole any of it, I'd be in trouble deep for sure!" Then he turned his attention politely to the blonde, and acknowledged, "Hey, Helga."

Helga responded cordially with a nod. "Geraldo." Incredulously picking through the titles of Gerald's compact discs, she wondered, "What did you _do_, raid your dad's music collection?"

Gerald looked at the titles, and asked in a clueless manner, "How did you know?"

She rolled her blue eyes upwards while Phoebe giggled in anticipation for another highly entertaining exchange between her best and boyfriend. "The fact that everything you've got to listen to is nearly forty years old?" Helga answered with a jokingly sarcastic lilt as she pointed to the compact discs, "If you're searching for a reason, _that's _why no one stole your junk from you, _Bucko_."

Undaunted, Gerald defended with swagger, "Hey, my dad's dating trunk is _never_ wrong, Pataki." Gerald cast Phoebe a knowing look as a blush flooded her cheeks while his forehead touched hers. "There just ain't no better decade to _smooch_ to, and there's something _definitely _wrong with someone who doesn't like seventies music!"

Dryly, Helga suggested while pointing at the music discs, "Mmm Hmm, then you must be the only fully functioning human being in the tri-city area then, Pop Daddy, because_ that_ crap is as dated as Rhonda's summer wardrobe from fourth grade."

Gerald allowed his lips to twist into an evil looking grin as he recounted the surprising events of a few evenings earlier. "You sang_ Lotta' Love_ at the bowling alley last Wednesday on karaoke night, got a standing ovation, _and_ encore calls!"

As Phoebe desperately bit her lip to keep from laughing at her best friend's reaction, Helga blustered and looked around in a panicked fashion hoping to God no one heard the annoying boy as she swung her hands to her sides. With a red face, Helga spat back at him, "Well I didn't_ want_ **to**!" With an even more flimsy excuse, she ended, "My _mom _**made** me get up there and do it!"

Loving the ability to get her goat, Gerald chortled, "Yeah right, dancing queen, you were _born_ to sing that song!" Helga's glare could have burned a hole through the suicidal boy's head and out the other side as he lightly hummed the tune to tease her, but Gerald simply grinned and pretended not to notice Helga's flaring nostrils and the guttural, demonic sounding growl that issued from her throat past clenched teeth.

Any other time Gerald would have continued to enjoy himself at Helga's expense, and give the silly girl even more grief over her hidden talent but chose not to because strangely enough, he had come to respect her.

Helga was Phoebe's best friend, and she _was_ okay, but the main reason why he tried to look at Helga differently was because of the positive attributes that his best friend saw in the girl during his long, frequent conversations about of all things _"like liking" _her.

Ironically, the rock the entire neighborhood clung to like white on rice had actually asked _him_ for of all things, advice on the matter.

As such, Gerald decided to let Helga have that argument, but he would be damned if she got off light, even if Arnold _was_ in love with her crazy ass.

Not to be outdone, Gerald nodded to Phoebe knowingly, then hinted to Helga with that shit eating grin of his that she so clearly despised, "I've got _plenty_ of tickets for the booth, Miss Pataki, and they're _only_ a dollar apiece." Knowing what was coming, Helga rolled her eyes as Gerald looked upwards, quite determined to make a little mischief. "I'm a_ handsome_ man, Blondie, so you better buy some kisses from me while you have a chance, even though you have a heart of glass."

Helga's blue eyes turned black as she glared at the boy, and Phoebe playfully swatted Gerald's forearm laughing at the ludicrous idea of her boyfriend and best friend sharing a kiss on the cheek under any set of remarkable set of circumstances, including hell freezing over. "Oh, behave yourself!"

The irascible blonde retorted sarcastically, but with a smile, "Yeah, you do that! I'd rather kiss Sleestack, Tall Hair Boy!" Gerald quizzically rubbed his short shaven head as Helga pushed the visor of her ball cap up and looked up at the badly behaved boy while pointing at his girlfriend with her thumb, "I couldn't get a kiss from you even if I _wanted_ to, Geraldo, lest you forget, friend girl here is a _master_ of the martial arts."

Helga raised an eyebrow while placing her right hand over her heart, continuing with a wistful British accent that she thought one of Jane Austen's characters might use. "Therefore, I'm dreadfully sorry; Mr. Johannsen, but I must decline your generous offer of mutual adoration." Phoebe chuckled as Gerald's eyebrow rose. "You see, Miss Heyerdahl is the jealous type, and as such would bestow quite a liberal whipping upon both of us, the likes of which _so_ _grievous_ it would become the stuff of one of your _own_ scandalous urban legends."

Phoebe's eyebrow twitched as Gerald framed his bearded chin with his hand fighting a smile, and Helga finished with her normal voice in a dry tone, with just a lilt of humor teetering on the edge. "So we must be brave, Sir, and go separate ways no matter how _much_ the _pain_ in our hearts burden us, for our forbidden love must _never_ be." With a wide grin, Helga asked her best friend with her normal voice, "Hey how was_ that_ for the fancy talk, Phoebes?"

Phoebe burst out in loud laughter as Gerald shook his head, and countered. "You're a cruel mistress, _Miss_ Pataki, but don't fret," Gerald slipped his muscular arm around Phoebe as Helga cut her darkening blue eyes towards the boy, daring him to step too out of line regardless of her best friend being there or not. "I shall get over you in time."

Gerald grinned at Helga, and then leaned down to give Phoebe a kiss on the cheek, and with a blush, the diminutive girl looked upwards, smiled, and noted with a girlish giggle, "I didn't even_ buy_ a ticket from you_ yet_, Gerald."

Gerald straightened up with pride, winked, and informed with a swagger, "You should know by _now_ that for _you_, kisses are _always_ gratis."

A couple of years ago when they first started dating exclusively, Helga would immaturely stick her finger down her throat to simulate vomiting and give merciless grief to Gerald for the cheesiness of his ladies' man act, but now, she tried to look away to afford her friends some privacy as their lips met.

Helga was happy for her best friend, she truly was, and it was wrong, but she couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy when she saw Gerald and Phoebe together like that.

When the happy couple was finished, like her friend, Helga also sported slightly reddened cheeks as Gerald took the heavy radio and compact discs away from Phoebe, nodding towards the kissing booth. "I'm going to go help them finish setting up," He playfully warned, "Don't talk about how great I am _too_ much while I'm gone."

"I'll try to resist the urge." Phoebe answered as she rolled her eyes at Helga. Gerald placed a last peck on Phoebe's cheek before turning to walk away towards the team booth to help his friends, but _not_ before casting his eyes behind himself to take another glance at the object of his affections with a warm smile, while simultaneously mouthing, "_Love you_."

Despite her playful insult a moment before, an unbidden smile curled Phoebe's lips, but Helga exhaled softly through her nose, feeling so foolish on multiple levels. No one except the brilliant girl standing in front of her, and Curly, who was also helping set up the team booth in the distance knew it, but she spent more time than she cared to count wishing that she could have someone special in her life too.

Taking a glance towards the kissing booth at Arnold with a tearing heart, _that_ someone special.

Pulling her attentions away from Arnold before Phoebe noticed, Helga addressed her waiting friend incredulously as she pointed, "I can't believe you're actually allowing Gerald to participate in man whoredom and help with that stupid kissing booth!" With true concern, Helga wondered, "What if he contracts mono and then gives it to you?" Remembering a preventative catchphrase from a sex education class she had taken back in the eighth grade that they had _all_ been subjected to, Helga rendered soberly, "It's the gift that keeps on giving, you know."

Phoebe rolled her eyes, "I am secure enough in our relationship to both trust Gerald, and allow him to help an extremely worthy cause." Phoebe added cheerfully, "Besides, the kisses that will be given by all the boys and girls today will only be on the cheek, the principal dictated so before he approved the school's name being put on the booth for the festival, therefore there will be no threat of a mononucleosis outbreak."

Helga crossed her arms, and looked up at her friend with her face clearly bearing the universal look of '_yeah right'_, "We've been friends for a long time, Phoebes, so let's just cut through the 'ol crap cake, huh?"

The customarily soft-spoken girl cleared her throat, crossed her arms, and finished with an inflection that was clearly territorial. "If it were the _other_ classification of affectionate exchange involving lips, Gerald Johannsen would _not_ be participating whatsoever."

Helga's eyes widened at Phoebe's unflinching candor, and motioned downwards with a calming movement. "Put up yer sword, _O-Ren_."

When Phoebe was satisfied that no one was either watching or listening, she bent down slightly, motioning with her head towards the booth suggesting with a sly, naughty inflection looking upwards, "You _know_, Gerald's not the_ only_ boy at the booth available for kissing, _Budd_."

As a deep red blush ran across her face, Helga composed herself and spat back, pointing with her thumb over towards the team booth. "I _know_ he's good looking, but I'm not _about_ to put my lips anywhere near Rhonda Lloyd's weird little chew toy if _that's_ what you're _thinking_." With a hint of actual concern for her well-being, Helga acknowledged, "She'd embed a pair of stiletto heels in my ass."

Phoebe laughed at Helga's adorable, but obvious attempts to hide her affection for both Arnold, and Curly who were helping to set up the booth. "It wouldn't be possible for you to acquire any tickets from Thaddeus anyway. Rhonda has already purchased the roll he was to sell; all one hundred of them to be exact, and then put the word out that his role in the operation of the booth today is strictly that of a setting up and managerial capacity."

Helga looked over at the table, and as soul or disco from the seventies filled the air, she observed Arnold, Gerald, and Sid working, but observed that Thad and Rhonda were in a loose embrace, swaying in time to the music, making sickeningly saccharine eyes at one another.

Helga waved her hand in the air with a flourish, and with her pinky finger raised, she added with a perfect imitation of Ms. Lloyd, "Well, that explains why the princess isn't over there throwing the most_ outré_ conniption fit about her precious little _Thaddikins_ being behind the booth today."

She tried not to because she knew that it would only egg her on, but Phoebe couldn't help but chuckle at the genius of Helga's mimicry as she crossed her arms. "I wasn't talking about _Thad_, Helga, and you _know_ it." Phoebe's eyebrow rose as she noticed that Helga paid no attention, inspecting Arnold in her peripheral vision instead.

Taking an uncharacteristically ribald page from her boyfriend, Phoebe imitated the sound of static in her cupped hand announcing, "Earth to Major Pataki circling around Uranus, come back."

Helga massaged her temples in frustration, "And you say I have problems, Heyerdahl." Helga motioned towards the team booth with her head towards Gerald and playfully spat, "That boy you're dating has been a _horrible_ influence on you!"

Phoebe acknowledged slyly, "I _know_."

After giving her a funny look, Helga pointed across the way to Rhonda, then Curly and Phoebe's eyes widened as she turned to look towards the booth at the curiosity of the most mismatched couple to trudge arm in arm in the hallways of Hillwood High in its entire recorded history. "_Criminy_, Phoebes, back up!" The dramatic blonde put a finger on her lips as she muttered, "I think I'm gonna' barf!"

As the song _Love Rollercoaster_ began to play, Curly had a long strand of grey and black printed tickets crushed in his closed fist as Rhonda tickled him under his dimpled chin. Rhonda then ran her slender fingers through Thad's shiny black hair, petting him as if he were some exotic, tiger striped animal from the zoo.

After whispering something that made Curly's face turn red as strained beets, Miss Lloyd took pity and leaned forward to give her lovesick boy a kiss on the cheek, leaving redder lipstick in its wake.

Neither partner satisfied with _that _affection, Rhonda gently grasped both of Curly's crimson ears with her index fingers and thumbs, gently pulling him forward with a questionably sane, wide crooked grin that resembled one of Thad's. With some imagination, one might have heard a catlike purr as soon enough, no longer being able to resist the rewards of temptation, Rhonda's lips touched Curly's.

Phoebe's eyebrows lifted as she suggested, "I surmise that neither Thaddeus _nor_ Rhonda received the memo about no lip kissing for the booth."

"_Lips_?" Helga smirked as she pointed towards them with her thumb, "A roasting hot case of mono is the _least_ of their worries if they keep_ that_ crap up!"

"Oh,_ goodness_!" Phoebe muttered with her hand to her mouth with a blush as negotiations between their classmates became a little more complicated.

Unable to resist any longer, Helga cupped her hands around her mouth, and yelled loud enough for the amorous couple, God, and every resident in the entire state of Washington to hear, "HEY, 'RHON 'RHON! WHAT DOES _THAT _TASTE LIKE?"

"Oh, _Helga_, you're terrible!" Phoebe playfully chided with her hand over her mouth to hide a chortle as Rhonda turned in annoyance to look at the loudmouth blonde with Curly bearing a ridiculously blissful look on his face, then back to Gerald, Arnold, and Sid staring at the odd pairing of fanatically insane and militant fashionista with wide eyes.

"Don't bank the fires of passion on my account, _Rhondurly_!" Helga suggested with a titter, and waving fingers.

"Rhondurly!" Arnold chortled behind the table while he slapped Gerald and Sid on their backs, slapping the table while laughing loudly, "That's a good one!"

Rhonda pulled away from Thad and placed her hand on her hip while cutting Arnold a nasty look, the only remark mischievous boy had to offer in the manner of a response was a chuckle filled, "What?"

Then Rhonda turned to Helga giving her the same look, however she simply shouted with curiosity from across the distance with a pronounced shrug, "WHAT?"

Rhonda sighed, but instead of verbally responding, because that was probably what Helga wanted, Rhonda produced an artificial smile, and turned back to her boyfriend for another more reserved kiss.

As the fashionable girl did however, she wound her slender arm around her waist, pressed her hand to the small of her back, and gave Helga the best, most clever and sneaky middle finger she had ever received in her entire life.

As Helga's eyes widened, Phoebe who was a member of the debate team chuckled as she asked, "Your rebuttal, Miss Pataki?"

Impressed beyond words that the princess actually lowered herself to plebeian standards with her one fingered salute, and she was the cause, instead of being irritated, Helga burst out with a loud laugh, and waved her hand towards Rhonda dismissively while looking at her best friend. "It would be immature." Phoebe's mouth opened, but before she could get a word in, Helga pointed her finger at her best friend and said with a smile, "Don't say it!"

Phoebe smiled and looked upwards as she answered with a cheerful lilt, "Not saying!" After everyone settled, and business was attended to once more, Phoebe smiled, and motioned towards the booth. "I suppose I should go and help Gerald and the others complete setting up."

Helga agreed with a nod noticing Sid, Gerald, and Stinky giving a red faced Arnold noogies as they looked over at she and Phoebe, while Rhonda compared purple and pink crepe paper garlands against the decorative coverings on the kissing booth tables for compatibility. "That lot needs someone sensible over there to crack the whip and keep their butts focused, _that's_ for _sure_."

Helga added with a point of her finger as Phoebe watched the spectacle unfold, "The boys aren't going to get anything accomplished _except_ male bonding without some sort of supervision." Helga's attention then turned to Rhonda as she waved the back of her hand towards her, "From the looks of it, God knows that left to her own devices, Rhonda Lloyd Wright over there will have the whole damn kissing booth looking like a two dollar a jump cathouse before she's finished putting her touch on it!"

"Helga!" Phoebe squeezed out before laughing so hard that it made the people walking around her stop for a moment and study the irony of something so loud coming out of such a tiny person. "Gerald is no worse an influence on me than you are, Helga Pataki!" As she wiped her eyes, and settled, the kind girl offered as she pointed at the cups on the table, "In a little bit, we'll all come over and see if we can aid you and Sheena by our collective patronage."

Helga pointed to the booth and asked with a well-feigned, definitely smart assed quasi-confused lilt, "You mean you're gonna' buy somethin'?" Phoebe's lips pursed, and choosing not to irritate her friend any further the crafty blonde waved a dismissive hand while raising the other to check her watch. "I'm sure Sheena will be back soon and then I'll move on to bigger and better things."

Despite the air of carelessness she tried to portray, Phoebe detected the longing in Helga's voice as she glanced towards Arnold. The caring girl could have said something to Helga about possibilities that still existed, but the understanding grown from their long-standing friendship about the topic forbade it. "Okay, Helga," Phoebe ended with an indefinable tone as Patty Smith and Harold Burman walked towards the kissing booth with neatly stacked boxes of doughnuts in their arms, "I'll see you later then."

As Phoebe departed Helga sighed and leaned forward to watch a small black fly rub its hairy legs together on the pitcher of sugary drink, opting to not shoo it away as she had before, but rolling the newspaper on the table for the kill.

The troublesome insect flew away and landed a few times, but after a few minutes of waiting for an opportune time to strike, the bright morning sunlight reflected off its segmented body. Helga then realized that the insect wasn't black at all, but a rainbow of radiant metallic bronze, blues, and greens depending on the shift of its body. When it turned upright, she marveled at the wealth of copper tones reflecting off its compound eyes as it dipped its proboscis down on the side of the drink container searching for whatever nourishment it could glean from the sides of the sticky pitcher.

Even though it _was_ a distasteful creature, Helga did think that as Nadine had told her in the past about spiders, cockroaches, and other insects that she found disgusting, there was still beauty to be found in the lowliest of things, and to have some respect.

Across the way, Sid dropped the corner of a heavy looking wooden box on top of his foot, and as he jumped around howling as if he had been mortally wounded, Phoebe looked alarmed, Rhonda primped her hair in a compact mirror, and Curly as well as Gerald laughed while Arnold, true to form, was trying to aid him.

A habit she couldn't break if she wanted, the clever girl unrolled the newspaper lying on the table, and held it up in front of her eyes as she leaned back in her chair to appear as she were reading instead of observing her wonder boy.

Caught up in the moment watching the boy she was in love with render assistance, married with the perverse humor of watching Sid loudly curse his discomfort, and she failed to notice that she was no longer alone.

The undetected presence observed the interesting sight of Helga watching the events progress across the way for a few moments, but then bent forward to crane its neck over Helga's shoulder to take a curious glance at her. After the lovesick blonde chuckled at Sid's clumsiness, and sighed wistfully at what she called Arnold's wonderfulness, the presence behind her piped up, "Hey, Lady, whatcha' lookin' at?"

The paper Helga hid behind fell into her lap, and as her head lurched upwards in surprise, then down in irritation, two bright brown eyes met her blue and her eyebrow twitched upwards as she studied the little curly haired boy that invaded her personal space.

He couldn't be any older than seven, and added to that, filthy, sporting a heavily stained white shirt that clearly bore the outline of a hand swiped downwards, with the same offending agent smeared around his mouth that both looked _and_ smelled suspiciously of honey barbecue sauce.

Being wholly successful in yanking her attention from Arnold, and knowing that she couldn't yell at the kid for sneaking up on her even if she wanted to, Helga nervously pointed at the pitcher another fly was crawling across, and began rolling her now well worn newspaper once again. "Well, I-I was just getting ready to swat this nasty fly is all."

Helga made a half-hearted attempt at striking the insect to prove her lie a truthful fact but it buzzed away annoyed, and completely unharmed as evidenced by its aimless, rather broken flight around their heads. Seeking to distract the child, and being an ardent fan of the useless knowledge otherwise known as trivia, Helga asked in a questioning tone with a smile, "Did you know that flies can taste things with the hairs on their bodies and feet?"

"Their_ feet_?" His interest grabbed not only by the scientific fact, but also because it was both extremely odd, not to mention a little disgusting, his eyes widened, and Helga had his_ full_ attention. "Wow! That's so cool!"

Satisfied with herself, Helga nodded, "They do!" As the fly once again rubbed its hairy legs together, Helga added, "Flies detect predators with the hair on their bodies also." Knowing children, especially boys enjoyed gross out humor, with a squinted eye, Helga observed, "Kinda' makes you wonder what they do with their butt doesn't it?"

The boy stuck his tongue out in deep thought, and after a few moments of internal pontificating, he waved his hand in front of him in a dismissive action. "It's probably just for poopin'." Helga burst out with a hearty, genuine laugh as the boy did too. After settling down he wondered, "How does a fly's hair tell it to get away from stuff that's trying to hurt it?"

Helga twirled her finger in the air, "Well, flies detect different speeds in the air around them with the hair on their bodies, and when they feel air swiftly passing them, instinct tells them to fly away from it before being eaten or smashed." Helga made a circle with her index finger and thumb, "That's why flyswatters have holes in them, so that there's less wind resistance in the swatter to transmit to the fly, so it isn't warned to fly away until it's too late." The artful girl slapped her hand down on the table exclaiming, "BLAMMO!"

"They're just doin' what flies do though." The boy admitted with empathy. "It kinda' of makes you feel sorry for 'em, don't it?"

Choosing to not correct his grammatical errors, Helga nodded. Insects, especially houseflies, carried diseases, but she seldom took a moment to think of the ease in which she took the lives of lower creatures, and now that she had, she actually felt a twinge of guilt when defined by the innocence of a child. "Yeah, it actually kind of does."

The little boy swatted around himself as a couple of flies flitted around his head, then lit on his soiled face to tickle his cheek, and then the young man amended his earlier statement as he swatted, "Only a little, though."

Accustomed to sanitizing near hopeless cases of child filthiness with her regular visits to Olga's when her nephews were grimy, Helga took pity on her young charge and motioned towards him in an inviting gesture and a smile to walk behind the table. "I tell you what, c'mon over here, Kid." She pointed at flies as they swarmed around him. "I know you can't be too comfortable with all that goop all over you, and maybe the flies won't find you so tasty if we get you cleaned up a little bit. What do you say?"

The boy then cheerfully added as he stuck a greasy red, black pepper speckled finger into his mouth to suck clean, "I do taste pretty good!" Generously, he offered what she assumed was an un-licked, freshly coated finger with genuine politeness. "Wanna' try it?"

Helga looked upwards, and honestlytried not to grimace, but her nose did wrinkle a little when she shook her head negatively and held up her waving hands, "No, Sweetheart, _I'm good_, but thanks for offering."

While he slurped, Helga reached to her side and picked up an almost empty spool of perforated paper towels. "I like your hat; the Black Sox are my favorite team." The boy politely complimented.

"Mine too." Helga smiled, then pointed at the boy's almost white shirt, "Since we're handing out compliments, I like that stain on you right there." She looked at it with her head cocked and added with an impressed manner, "It kinda' looks like one of those turkeys you trace with your hand to make a Thanksgiving card." The boy gave Helga a strange look and then tugged out his shirt from the bottom to look at it.

Helga tore one towel off her dwindling roll to begin the process of cleaning the dirty boy up, but after a study of his state again, thought better of it, and added a second sheet on top of the first.

Even though the wrapper of the product boasted a higher percentage of absorbency than the leading national brand, not even the manufacturer of the towels could have anticipated a mess the likes of which she was about to scour away.

After opening the drain in the bottom of the ice chest, she saturated the paper towels with freezing cold water and then closed it back. Thinking to spare the boy shock from the temperature of the water, the thoughtful girl held the dripping wet towels in her hand for a few moments, but soon, Helga's fingers turned numb, she figured that all the warmth that could transfer to them was spent.

Helga stalled, "So, what do they call you, Kid?"

Brightly he blurted, "My name's Michael, but everybody calls me Mikey." The boy thrust out his sticky hand in polite introduction. "What's yours?"

The wary blonde grasped the slick appendage, and couldn't say that she actually relished the slippery warm feeling of barbeque sauce mingled with slobber and grease, but she smiled and heartily shook his hand anyway. "Mine's Helga, Helga Pataki, pleased to meet you, Kid."

Mikey observed, "Hey! There's a guy on TV with that name."

Helga smirked, "Are you referring to Big Bob Pataki, the Beeper King?"

With the light of recognition shining in his eyes, Mikey blurted, "Yeah, that's him! Naked ladies dance around him while he wears a crown, and he yells a lot while riding on an elephant and cutting price tags with scissors."

Helga laughed, "Those ladies are _not _naked, my mom wouldn't allow it, and he yells a lot when he's at home too."

He quizzically moved to scratch his head as Helga stopped him. "That guy is your daddy?"

"Yup." Helga nodded.

With all the couth of youthful innocent, Mikey suggested, "He's crazy."

Helga agreed dryly, "Tell me about it."

After wiping off her own hand with the wet towels first, and seeing no advantage to holding off the inevitable, Helga said warily, "Okay, Mikey, this is going to be a little cold, but we'll take it slow so you can get used to the temperature of the water, okay?" Studying the filthiest part of the boy, Helga reasoned, "Let's get your face first and then we'll work on those hands."

The boy nodded, and leaned his face forward as Helga lightly applied pressure. Expecting a conniption fit, and a chase around the table the likes of which Olga's sons would treat her to when she would try to clean _them_, to Helga's pleasant surprise, her young charge informed, "The water's not real cold. It feels pretty good, actually."

"I was afraid it wouldn't be comfortable." Helga took a last swipe at his now clean lips and asked, "Do this for me, please." Helga closed her eyes and puffed out her cheeks, and when Michael was finished laughing at her, he complied, and his benefactor finished scrubbing the sauce off his face. "Okay, I'm done with your mug, Kiddo." The boy dramatically let the air out of his cheeks, and Helga turned her head as his cooling spittle hit her face. Wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, Helga admonished, "_Say_ it, Bucko, don't _spray _it!" After running the damp, but now warm towel over the boy's face one last time for safety's sake, she winked, saying with a playful lilt, and touch of his nose, "You're a lot more handsome without the five o'clock shadow." With a raised eyebrow she added, "I bet the girls just eat you up."

Michael informed his female benefactor with no qualms whatsoever while sticking out a tongue to punctuate his point, "Girls are _totally_ yucky!"

Helga studied the boy, then offered the surprising opinion, "Yeah, but we grow on you." Then she crossed her eyes, made a funny face and lightly poked his tummy with her index finger while using an evil sounding inflection, "Likefungus!"

When the boy laughed and rubbed his tickled stomach, Helga hurriedly admonished, "Now, don't touch your shirt, okay?" As an afterthought, "Come to think of it, your face either." The boy nodded in agreement, "I'm going to wipe your mug dry _first_," She pointed at his filthy hands, "Then we can work on those little monkey paws."

Michael nodded, but he wasn't looking at her, but instead the inviting pitcher of delicious looking drink sitting on the table beside them. Judging by the copious amounts of barbecue sauce she was scrubbing off her charge, Mikey was bound to have imbibed even more of the tangy, salty substance. What with the rising heat of the day and the amount of barbecue sauce Helga suspected he ate, Mikey was probably extremely thirsty.

With a smile, Helga offered, "When we're done getting you squared away, how would you like to have a nice, cool cup of lemonade?" She hinted benevolently as a cue to accept her offer, "My treat."

The boy grinned in agreement. "Would I?"

Helga chuckled, "It's a deal then."

* * *

Much too busy with her extremely soiled child to notice, Helga could not possibly realize that she had an observer and he was all too happy to indulge in the opportunity undetected with a heartsick sigh.

It would be somewhat _misleading_ if he said that people weren't still a little wary of Helga Pataki's temperament, but even her _biggest _detractors would have to admit that she had changed quite a bit through the years.

Granted, she _still _cherished portraying herself as the hardest ass in town and refused to eat very little of the bitter delicacy that she lovingly called "crap" off of people, but Ms. Pataki_ had_ matured a great deal over the years and on the whole was much nicer to people than she once was.

The unfathomable fact that Helga had quit punching Brainy in behind her back for the minor offense of breathing a few years ago _alone_ was substantiation that she was making monumental progress towards a peace prize.

The girl he had come to admire in many ways was still as spirited and headstrong as ever, and he _loved _her for that actually, but Helga definitely had a softer side. Better yet, over the years, the interesting blonde had begun to allow _others_ to observe that wonderful facet of her personality.

True, candid instances of such were rare, but still, they existed, and were tantalizing hints to who Helga Pataki _really_ was that lurked beneath the surface.

Built from inkling from the days of his youth, Arnold gathered years of ironclad proof that the girl's act as the neighborhood's own self-proclaimed non-giver of a damn was simply that, nothing more than a facade she felt the need to project in order to conceal the kind; caring side that he knew existed all along.

While the lovely intro of a seventies disco anthem that hit a little too close to home began to play, the golden girl once again reared her head back and Arnold grinned as Helga loudly laughed, flashing that genuine, radiant smile at the little boy.

He wished so ardently that she directed it at him, nevertheless, Arnold felt privileged to witness it all the same.

Compared to the dark days of her early childhood that Arnold only knew heartbreaking snippets of, seeing Helga happy, enjoying a good patch in her life, and getting the care and love that she both needed, and deserved at home was a beautiful thing.

In his smitten heart, gazing at her with half-lidded eyes and his chin on his fist, he thought that _she_ was so beautiful_ too_.

"Mmm, mmm, mmm! I've seen it _all _now, buddy!" Arnold jumped when Gerald roughly slapped his shoulder and observed incredulously, "Maternal instinct!"

The blonde boy's head snapped upwards from the warm sight, and he blustered with an abashed blush, "I _hate_ it when you do _that_, Gerald!"

Arnold sighed, planting his face firmly in his hand as Gerald poked his best friend in the shoulder playfully. "This is like the time we caught your Grandma reading Fifty Shades of Grey under the kitchen table with Phil and Abner."

His attention successfully torn away from Helga for the moment, he begged, "God, Gerald, shut up!" Gerald cackled shamelessly as Arnold desperately tried to expunge the indelible image of his pink pet pig wearing a silver, black pin striped tie around his neck. Shaking his head vigorously with his eyes closed, Arnold blurted with horror, "You _promised_ you'd never mention that to me _again_!"

Completely disregarding the completely nauseated look on his best friend's face, Gerald returned to his earlier observations. "Who would'a thought that nurturing female_ caring_ stuff would come a'bubblin' up outta' of _Helga Pataki _like Pennsylvania crude?"

Arnold blurted out, "I've been telling you for _years_ that she's not _near_ as bad as she seems."

Gerald whispered optimistically, admiring Helga's gentle treatment of the little boy across the way. "Well, at least you know that when you two finally get married and have kids she won't eat your young." Arnold exhaled a hot breath from his nostrils as he crossed his arms. Gerald knelt, and then nodded upwards towards Helga. "You know I'm just kiddin', Buddy, Helga's pretty cool, well, for being Helga." Refusing to notice Arnold's glare, he ended seriously, "When are you going to do something about her, man?" Arnold's eyes cut towards the blue sky in exasperation as his best friend leveled with him. "It's been what, almost a year now, and you still haven't made a move?"

Arnold sighed with exasperation, "It's not as easy as it looks but I'm _working_ on it!" When Gerald raised an eyebrow, he expounded as he sliced his hand over his wild, sandy blonde locks, "I've tried to drop all kinds of hints, but it all just goes over her head." Remembering how much trouble it was to round up the insects, even _with_ Nadine's help, Arnold recounted, "Even after I gave Helga that box full of crickets I gathered in the backyard for her lizard, she _still _didn't pick up on it."

Gerald said dryly, "How in the world could _any_ girl possibly mistake _that_ for a gesture of romantic interest?"

Arnold's eyes squinted. "It's the _thought_ that counts, you know, and they were _really_ hard to catch."

Stinky, who had been eavesdropping the entire time, informed with his molasses slow, nasally spoken southern twang, "Y'all know you can buy a little box of them noisy things at the pet store for a quarter don't ya'?"

Arnold gave Stinky a look and then scooted closer to Gerald. "After all this time I'm still no closer, and I just can't think of a good way to," Arnold looked up into his friend's sympathetic eyes, "well you know." He shrugged, and whispered after looking around himself before divulging, "It's not exactly easy to go up to somebody like her and say, _'Hey, guess what? I think we should date!'_" With caution, Arnold added, "There's also the fact that the last guy who asked Helga out _still _can't eat solid food," He pulled the collar of his tee shirt away from his neck, "_or_ walk right."

Gerald shook his head, "Wolfgang was drunkas a _skunk_ when he was shoved in that closet with Helga at Rhonda's party last week, and he's damn lucky that a kick in the sweetbreads, and a wired jaw was _all _he got after his hands started wanderin'."

Unable to contain herself any longer, as if she ever truly tried, Rhonda poked her aristocratic nose into the fray. "Honestly, Gerald! Sweetbreads?" She then chimed in to sing Helga's praises with an inflection most easily described as impressed. "WellI think that Helga Pataki is a class act through and through." Rhonda waved a haughty hand to her side. "Mother and father said she didn't _have_ to, but Helga _insisted_ that she pay for the replacement of the closet door that broke when she kicked Wolfgang _and_ his balls through it."

Arnold's eyes widened as Thad walked over and boosted himself up on the table to face him. "My friend, in concerns to Helga, your reputation proceeds you as being nothing less than a gentleman in respects to every young lady you have ever had in your company." With confidence, Curly expounded with a low gesture and cupped hand. "I feel you need not fear for the safety of the family jewels." Gerald put his hand over his eyes and everyone else began to chuckle as Curly continued with a wink. "All you need to do, my good fellow, is follow the wise advice you would most likely give any of us. Follow your heart and have some confidence in yourself!" He glanced at his girlfriend before continuing, "I know that your advice for the lovelorn helped _me _tremendously!"

Rhonda smiled sideways. "I _knew_ it!"

Curly blew her a kiss before addressing Arnold again. "I _know_ it's easier said than done, but take a chance and let Helga know from your heart how you feel about her." He grinned and supplemented with a shrug, "You just _might_ be surprised."

Fearful that Curly was about to unlock the secrets of his best friend's universe, Rhonda lightly smacked his hand as she might a child stealing cookies from a jar. As Thad rubbed his smarting fingers, he looked towards Arnold, and wondered with a whisper, "Are you _sure_ you wish to abandon the halcyon of single hood?"

Rhonda crossed her arms and eyed him in a somewhat evil way, "You _never_ had it so good, weirdo." For reasons that didn't bear mentioning, the incorrigible boy looked upwards whistling the theme to _Yo, Ernest _innocently.

Arnold looked to the side and muttered, "I try to strike up conversations with Helga in the halls during class changes and after school all the time, but she always leaves before I have time to work into asking her out for us to do something together." Dejectedly, Arnold theorized with a wild arm movement, "She's said it for _years_, maybe Helga really _does _mean it when she says she doesn't want anything to do with me." Arnold turned to Phoebe, and anticipating his question, her face immediately turned red as the curious blonde boy noted hopefully, "You're her best friend, has Helga ever said anything to _you_ about me by any chance?"

Uncomfortably put on the spot, and not wanting to betray Helga, or lie either, Phoebe's eyes widened as her mind became constipated with the swirling memories of Helga's numerous confessions of love.

Arnold's supposition was true there was no doubt as Phoebe had indeed borne witness to nearly _all_ of Helga's outrageous moments of doubt while martyred on the cross of love for the boy who gazed at her expectantly.

Phoebe had cowered from the countless fearsome expressions of anger fed by jealousy that centered around the women in Arnold's love life, not to mention was an accessory in the implementation of a _lot _of Helga's completely, for lack of a better description, ass crazy schemes that _never_ worked as intended.

If any question were left in Phoebe's mind at all about the endless scope of Helga's feelings of affection for Arnold Shortman, all doubt was settled last Tuesday evening at exactly eight fifteen post meridian time.

While intoxicated by a giddy sugar high resulting from the consumption of an entire six-pack of twelve-ounce Yahoo sodas, and a one pound bag of multi colored gummy brains while watching her favorite zombie movie, one Helga Geraldine Pataki confessed she loved Arnold Shortman more than life itself.

Adding to that sizable statement, Helga declared that she would gladly die to keep Arnold safe, and if fate deigned her to live, she wanted to marry the boy, and bear copious amounts of his children without the benefit of anesthesia if necessary, despite the risk of their heads being the exact size and shape of their father's.

As Arnold's eyes dragged her back to the present for an answer, Phoebe's cheeks were painted uncomfortably pink. As Arnold searched for truth in her eyes expectantly, she stalled for a diplomatic way to give him a push in the right direction _without _uncovering her best friend's deepest, darkest secret, but coming upon nothing useful.

Thankfully, Stinky Petersen walked up from behind and put a stack of tickets down on the table to add his take on the situation. "You know, Arnold, sometimes the worst thing about bein' in love with somebody is not knowin' how the other person feels about ya'." He nodded towards Helga, "You oughta' just go on ahead and tell Helga how you feel and then wait for her to answer." Stinky held out no illusions on the risky endeavor, "We all know it'll hurt if it turns out the way you don't want, but at least you'll know and then you can move on."

Shocked that he actually knew about something outside the realm of his main interests, which were taxidermy and lemon pudding, everyone stared at Stinky, collectively wondering where that brilliant and deceptively prudent piece of advice came from. "You're a right nice feller an' all _too_, Arnold, why _wouldn't _Helga like you back?" The wild card intellectual winked and nudged Arnold with his elbow, "You might be wastin' all yer time bein' lovesick and miserable that you that you _could _be fillin' with _other _activities."

"Yeah," Sid chimed in while salaciously rubbing his hands together. "Like makin' out and stuff!"

Distracted from his thoughts of how nice it truly would be to kiss the girl, and actually enjoying the spectacle of Rhonda repeatedly striking Sid about the head and arms with a tightly rolled paper as one might a misbehaving dog, Arnold didn't realize an important fact until then.

He was grateful for the release from his secret, and yes, even the muddled attempts of his friends trying to help him, but Arnold _was_ taken aback; and had to ask the next question in order to satisfy his curiosity. "Wait a minute, how do all of you even _know_ that I even _like_ Helga to begin with?"

The hapless boy's eyes widened when Rhonda huffed out a hard, dramatic sigh. "Oh, Arnold,_ please_ spare us the innocent act!"

Whipping an emery board out of her designer leather purse to begin sanding her thumbnail like the rusty fender of Curly's old pickup truck, Rhonda paused for a moment to unabashedly point towards Helga over her shoulder. "Despite the fact that you've been _shout_ whispering about her to Gerald for the past few minutes, it's _obvious _that you've had a _thing_ for that girl for _years._" She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and accused, "You've been nursing this little love to ignore, hate, but protect Helga Pataki obsession since we were all in day care together."

Harold chimed in, "Yeah, you gave her your graham crackers after I ate up all of hers." He nodded, "That's love."

With a nonchalant tone, Rhonda finished her impulsive manicure with a blow on her nails volunteering, "Look around you, dear, it's not like it's any sort of big _news_ or anything."

Arnold's head whipped around to peer at the nods of agreement coming from his friends when Patty Smith fondly recalled, winking at the caring boy. "That's true, I mean you _did _talk me out of altering her perception of reality in the fourth grade when I all wanted to do was beat the daylights out of her."

Gerald chortled, "Then there was that time at the April fool's Day dance where you served as Helga's seeing eye dog and then hauled her skinny ass all around the YMAA gym floor on your shoulder to backwards disco music while she was _supposedly_ blind."

Phoebe had her hand over her mouth to hide a smile as Arnold's eyes narrowed at Gerald, who seemed to be enjoying _his_ discomfort a bit too much for his own taste. Meanwhile, as he conveniently ignored Arnold's dirty looks, Gerald could barely keep a straight face as he ended with a point, "I ain't even _gonna'_ mention that _nasty_ little tango the two of you greased the floors with up in there."

"Thanks, Gerald." Arnold answered dryly.

While the cornered blonde drummed his digits on the table, Rhonda curled hers to examine the rest of her shiny, clear coated French nails, and then straightened her fingers to admire them as she properly expounded, "Lest we forget, you've also been slipping five dollar gift certificates from your job at Sub King into her locker for _months_."

In turn, Gerald, whom Arnold hadn't divulged _that_ little fact to guffawed, "Really?"

Not missing a beat, astutely Rhonda theorized, "I gather so the pastrami queen will come in during your shift and eat that twelve inch sub you're so famous for?"

As Curly's inexcusably impish cackle carried across the festival grounds, everyone else stared at Rhonda incredulously, wondering if her double entendre was intentional or not as Arnold's face turned red.

In turn, Stinky drawled, oblivious to Arnold's discomfort, "When Helga walks in into homeroom you get that happy smile on your face like Arnie does when he talks about dryer lint." As he planted his hand in his face, Arnold's fondest wish was that his friend was finished, but Stinky added, "You also sigh a whole lot more and you look at her in the halls at school like she's a double deck fatback sandwich with a side of sausage gravy too, so it's kinda' obvious that you like her, Arnold."

Rhonda rolled her eyes at her friend's bucolic metaphor looking upwards with a harsh blow of hot air through her nostrils as Sid added, "You've been checkin' her out the _entire_ time you've been here today _too_, Man." Easily surpassing Stinky's obviousness, he declared with a sharp elbow in Arnold's ribs, "Boy howdy who could blame you, though, right, Buddy? Helga's got that _delicious_, forbidden fruit thing going for her, and that's incredibly hot!" Arnold sighed, hating to agree with him _and _grateful that what he said wasn't_ that_ bad, as Rhonda, Patty, and Phoebe took a moment to glare at Sid in the fruitless attempt to shame him.

Arnold spun slowly in his seat to look at all his friends; in return, they gave him a glance that clearly signified their sympathy for him. Useless to pretend any longer, and frustrated that he actually needed help with the endeavor that was Helga, Arnold exhaled a long breath and allowed his football shaped head fall to edge of the table rather hard as he rolled his forehead back and forth on it, "Oh, God, _why_?"

Gerald joked, "I think we broke him." Arnold raised his eyes to give his best friend a glare that could kill, but Gerald quickly quieted as he caught a glance of Phoebe's less than pleased expression directed towards him.

Patty shuffled boxes of doughnuts bought to feed everyone, but when she lifted the ones hidden in the middle, they were weightless. As she shook the boxes, and heard the crumbs rattle in the emptiness inside, Patty addressed her gluttonous boyfriend with exasperation, "You _ate_ two dozen chocolate crème doughnuts, _Harold_?"

Rhonda's eyes bulged, "By _yourself_?"

As Patty's expression, which was more disappointed than angry with him spread across her face, Harold grinned sheepishly, and shrugged declaring, "I was hungry!" Then he threw out his pouting lips and gazed at his girlfriend with that achingly adorable patented puppy dog look he had developed for such an occasion. Patty was a sucker for it, and Harold was secure in the knowledge that it would get him out of trouble.

"What in the world is fatback, Stinky?" Even though Phoebe was from Kentucky, so therefore she should know, the scholarly southern transplant pondered seriously while adjusting lavender framed glasses on the bridge of her nose. "A southern term of friendly endearment for an overweight friend?"

Before Stinky could answer, Gerald and Arnold guffawed while Harold held his arms up defensively so he wouldn't be hit on the head with two empty doughnut boxes Patty was striking him with.

Patty's punishment was far from painful, but anger was evident in her eyes and Harold wondered with panic, "Why didn't the puppy dog look work?"

Patty gave Harold a last painless smack with the quickly deteriorating boxes and huffed, "_Puppies_ don't eat _four pounds_ of doughnuts in one sitting, Burman!" The incorrigible boy reached into a full box of doughnuts stacked on top of the others to pull a single doughnut out to eat, and Patty flung up her hands in frustration, turning away from him in defeat.

Amid the jumbled conversations of his friends and resulting melee became a distraction to Arnold's romantic predicament, Rhonda clapped her hands together to bring everyone back to the important topic at hand. "_Focus_, people, focus!" Then she announced cordially, as if she were chairwoman of the Hillwood Ladies' Garden League, "Arnold is always helping us with _our_ problems, and _he_ needs_ our_ help now." Before Arnold could tell them he had changed his mind about them helping him, Rhonda turned to Curly, "Darling?"

Thad turned his head to the side and placed a quick kiss on Rhonda's cheek before picking up the conversation as if nothing strange had occurred in the last few minutes. "Believe me, Arnold; faint heart has _never_ won fair lady!" Arnold's eyebrow twitched when Thad made a grandiose suggestion, "Proudly sally forth, Sir Arnold, and bravely stride towards your lady with the leonine pride of a victorious shining knight of old after the joust to claim the love and favors of the fair princess across the way as your own!"

Arnold would have shot back at Curly with the observation that certifiably_ insane_ never made a girl fall for a guy either, but Thaddeus Gammelthorpe was the weirdest guy he would probably ever meet in his _entire_ life, and Rhonda Lloyd absolutely adored him _and_ his antics.

Actually, it seemed that the stranger Curly acted, the better Rhonda liked it.

In turn, Phoebe, who was happy for Curly and whose obsessions with Rhonda rivaled Helga's in respects to Arnold, smiled at the warm embrace that he shared with his girlfriend. Gerald, on the other hand, fenced his fingers over his eyes with frustration. "You _gotta'_ quit that flowery Shakespeare crap, Curly!"

Phoebe put her hand over her mouth to hide a smile as Rhonda clutched Curly's arm a little tighter in hers, and then turned to Gerald with eyes narrowed to slits. "I _like_ that flowery Shakespeare crap."

Thad shrugged at Gerald with a happy grin as Rhonda faced her troubled friend, waved her hand dismissively, and pointed at him with her perfectly polished fingernail. "Look, Arnold, this is just simply pathetic!" Arnold gave the girl a double take at her attempts to be considerate of his plight, which frankly, were failing quite miserably. "It is absolutely needless for you to put yourself through all this torment." With a dismissive hand gesture, Rhonda suggested, "If you really like Helga, don't wait for her to notice you with flirting hints and anonymous gifts of brined meats and bread, _prove_ to her you like her!"

Knowing he was going to be sorry for being open to suggestions, Arnold asked, "Well, how?"

Gerald joked, "Just get her a tie."

"It's not Christmas_ yet_, Gerald." Arnold sighed, and rolled his eyes.

Rhonda shrugged and seriously suggested as if were no big thing, "Why don't you go out and buy her a nice Indian Chief motorcycle, some black leather chaps, go to Sturgis, and then tell her that you want her to love you as hard as a biker chick can."

Arnold, Gerald, Phoebe, and yes,_ even _**Curly** turned to look at the usually reserved queen of Hillwood High fashion as if she had suggested something absolutely ludicrous, like going to _Roscoe's Funky Rags_, buying herself a mustard yellow leisure suit, a pair of white platform heels and then wearing them to the senior prom.

Rhonda huffed to her friends with her arms raised, "What?"

Gerald shook his head, and exhaled, "Lord, it's catching."

Curly grinned while snaking his arm around his girlfriend, "I_ have_ been a rather bad influence on you, Sweetheart."

Not being able to help herself, Phoebe suggested, "I believe that Helga would be highly receptive to that idea, Arnold, if nothing else for legal possession of a motorcycle."

Gerald bridged his fingers on his forehead and sighed in exasperation, "Don't _**you**_ go Rhondurly on me _too, _I don't think I can take it_._"

Arnold stated dryly and rolling his eyes, "Thank all of you for the advice, but I'd like to do something a little more _realistic_," He glanced at Rhonda, "And _affordable_."

Rhonda muttered with a smile, "You are _such _a tightwad."

Stinky shrugged, and looked at Arnold, "It'd sure be nice if there was a way to get Helga to come over here to the booth, and then you could maybe _dare_ her to kiss you or somethin'." Stinky winked, "It'd be a mighty fine way for you t'get started."

"Yeah!" Sid grinned wickedly, "Go for it, Man! Helga would _so_ kiss you on a dare, if nothing else just to spite everybody!" As an afterthought, "Just do it where we can all watch."

Gerald warned, "Don't go there, Sid!"

Arnold shook his head, "I'm not going to do that! It would put Helga on the spot, embarrass her, and just drive her farther away!" With caution he wondered, "Are you all _trying _to get me beaten to a pulp?"

As other football and basketball team members who were not in the considerably wide loop began showing up for kissing booth duty, everyone in the know worked in silence thinking on the matter.

Seeing nothing being accomplished, Stinky began stacking rolls of tickets onto the table from a box, and Sid struck the dusty lid with a white hanky attempting to help, but his action served to do nothing but make the thick irritant airborne. Soon enough, Stinky sneezed, and as Thad dug into his pocket to produce a clean tissue for him to use, the wadded, wrinkled strand of tickets that Rhonda had redeemed for his kisses earlier fell to the pavement.

Thad bent down, as he clutched them in his fingers while glancing over towards the French club table, his eyes lit up, and as his lips curled into the crooked, near insane looking grin that was his trademark while looking over at Arnold, his eyes twinkling with _helpful _ideas.

Arnold adamantly stated as he shook his head saying with trepidation, "I _know_ that look, Curly." The incorrigible brunette shrugged as Arnold expounded, "You got it on your face in the last six seconds of the game against Pleasantville last month, so whatever you're thinking, it's bound to be nuts!"

Thad put his index finger on his chin pretending to be deep in thought, "I believe we _almost _won that game didn't we?" With a confident wink, he added, "Trust me; the ends will _definitely_ justify the means!"

In horror, Arnold spat out, "How many times do we have to tell you that this isn't fourteenth century Florence, and you are_** not**_ Machiavelli, Thad?"

Curly paid no heed to Arnold's vehement protests, and before he could ask for no further interference, Gerald cheerily announced, "Conference!" Unceremoniously yanked down into an unorthodox huddle comprised of his well meaning, but misguided friends by his overstretched shirt, Arnold allowed an uncomfortable, but mild choking sound issue from his throat.

After several secretive looks up at Helga by various members of the hastily gathered, but deceptively clever romance committee, some fevered conversation, and an eventual verbal running through of the plan with Arnold that he _grudgingly _agreed to, the poor, stuck boy sighed and rose to help finish what was left of the set up work.

After quick a glance over at Helga while his friends whispered conspiratorially, Arnold resigned himself to his fate, biding his time until an opportune chance arose to initiate the plan that Curly, and the others assured him,_ 'was so crazy, that it just might work'_.

Arnold impatiently waited for a few minutes, but soon threw all pretense out the window, got up from his uncomfortable seat made of two cinderblocks and a wooden plank, procured an integral part of what was loosely called _the plan_, and walked over towards the French club booth before his resolve fled him.

While everyone watched and hoped for at best, Arnold's success, and at worst, his survival after his bid if it failed, Gerald shook his head as Phoebe sidled up and wound her arm around his waist. Gerald remarked hopefully, "They all have to leave the nest sometime."

The grateful boy looked down at Phoebe as she gazed upwards and sweetly smiled at him. "I have faith that this endeavor shall meet with a positive outcome." Gerald had a strange look on his face, one that signified he suspected that Phoebe knew more than she let on. Before Gerald could make inquiries, the clever girl put her finger on his lips and slyly suggested as she held up a crisp, freshly torn grey paper ticket between her fingers, "You have more pressing concerns in which to deal with at the moment because I do believe you have a customer."

The love struck boy looked down at his sweet girlfriend, and playfully rolled his eyes, "Well, Miss Heyerdahl, I suppose I am legally committed, you did pay your money after all." As his lips neared hers, he wondered, "Do you have _cooties_?"

Phoebe's only answer was to smile sideways. "Don't act like you don't _want_ them, _Geraldo_." Before he could say anything on his mind, Phoebe forcefully pulled the boy down, and procured her dollar's worth of love before he could indulge in another one of his atypical interruptions.


End file.
